Little Red Necromancer
by Rabid Ghosts
Summary: [FairyTale!AU] When Chloe, a suttering, skittish necromancer, goes to her aunt's house, she gets attacked by Rae and Royce. What happens when Derek and the gang save her? How will she react to being the anitsocial werewolf's mate? How will her family react? C/D N/S L/T R/R (DISCONTINUED)
1. Chapter 1

Little Red Necromancer

1

"She did not know that the wolf was a wicked sort of animal and she was not afraid of him."—Little Red Riding Hood, Grimm Fairytales

* * *

I clumsily tighten my red hoodie around me, hoping it'll chase away the chill that hung in the air from the morning's rain. My sneakers are soaked as I step through puddles and the frigid rain soaks through my flimsy running shoes.

My teeth are chattering like a squirrel's as I stumble over a tree root and fall face-first into the mud. Sputtering, I push my hair out of my face. "S-s-stupid rain," I grumble as I get to my feet.

My backpack bumps against my back, rattling with sweets Annette had snuck in. Why did Aunt Lauren have to live so far in the woods anyway? I peel off my dirty sweater and wipe off my face with it. "Little girls shouldn't go walking around in the woods alone," says a voice.

I whip around and my breath catches in my throat. A tall, slim girl with a pixie haircut leans against a tree, examining her nails. "Tori, you scared me." The witch gives a little smile. "Here." She pushes something cold and plasticy into my hand. I look down. It's a handheld taser. "Why would I need this?" I ask suspiciously. Her teeth flash like fangs.

"There's a wild wolf running around," she explains. I roll my eyes. "Wouldn't it be on the n-news?"

She purses her lips and picks a dry flake off her lips, looking extremely disinterested. She adjusts her black leather jacket and plays with the tassels on the sleeves.

"Yeah," she admits, her dark, slanted eyes narrowed at me, "_but _they don't want to alarm everyone." I turn the taser over and over in my hands; it feels heavy and cold. Like something dead. I close my eyes. _Don't think about the dead, _I scold myself. If I think about them, I'll raise them.

"Thanks," I tell Tori and her smile flashes fresh. "Be careful, Ghost Girl," she says as she walks back to town. I watch her retreating back and then turn away, heading farther into the woods. Every leaf is thrown into hd, dotted with raindrops; it's beautiful.

"Okay, keep going, Chloe," I tell myself quietly, ignoring the squish of my sneakers as I splash my way towards my aunt's house. I start to hum.

_Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood,_

_You sure are lookin' good,_

_You're everything a Big Bad Wolf could_—

Something snaps, a twig maybe. I whip around. My eyes can't see into the brush. My mind wanders back to Tori. _There's a wild wolf running around. _I slide my hand into my pocket, not taking it out, just reminding myself I'm not helpless as I feel. My heart's pounding, the blood thumping in my ears.

I feel sick. My hands are shaking as I resume walking. _Scene 1: Our protagonist, alone in the woods, hears a strange noise and ignores it. The wind picks up and the woods around her become more ominous. _Another snap, closer this time, right next to me.

I wheel around, whipping out my taser. "I-I-If a-a-a-anyone's out there, s-s-show yourself!" I stutter, sounding like a cop wannabe. _Scene 2: Protagonist finds no one there, but she can feel eyes on her, watching her, studying. She tucks her taser back into her pocket and continues on her way to her aunt's house. _

"Little girls shouldn't be in the woods alone," laughs a voice next to my ear.I barely get out the first note of a shriek before a hand wallops me between the shoulders and sends me to my knees, gasping for breath. I can make out a figure behind me, a man. "I like you, Chloe. I really do. You're just making this _too _easy," the voice continues and then I'm yanked to my feet, arms bent awkwardly behind me.

A tall, coper-skinned girl with coppery braids grins down at me maliciously. Beside her is a dark-haired boy with a lean body and lustful smile. I panic and flail, opening my mouth. I let out a loud, wailing scream that scatters the birds. Rae's foot flies forward and connects with my chin, blood bursting in my mouth, hot and salty.

It drips down my chin, onto the forest floor. Royce laughs. "Give me the taser," he demands Liam. The blonde slides his hand into my pocket and, while pretending to fumble with the fabric, caresses my hip, his body firmly presses against my head.

I can feel every inch of him and bile fills my throat, acidic and vile. My chin is on fire from the vicious kick. A long, low howl cuts through their laughter and Ramon shoots up, casting Liam a worried look. The blonde werewolf snorts.

"Probably some dumb dog," Ramon tries to play it off. I struggle as Liam tosses Royce my taser. The crackling of electricity makes me whine and press back, squirming and twisting, my mouth on fire and bloody strings of saliva dripping down my chin.

"The little necro needs to pay, to be taught a lesson. You _aren't _better than anyone else. You always thought you were _so _much smarter than us, so much better because you're the only necromancer here, because you're so powerful. Hey, look, I'm Chloe and I can raise the dead! Save me!" Rae's vicious look makes me scramble but Ramon jabs his knee into my spine and sends me onto my stomach.

Someone touches my butt. I lash out and kick the culprit hard. A tight fist closes around my hair, ripping me from the ground, yanking on the roots. The pain makes my eyes water; I can see the blurs of the figures. Something hits me hard in the side of the head, making my ears ring. My temples are throbbing.

An echo bounces in my head. "Hey, back off, you stupid pup!" Liam snarls and I feel someone grab my arm, hard. Whoever's holding me smells wonderful, like pine and sweat and I'd love to just lay down in that scent and roll in it.

When my eyes clear, I see Rae's hand is on fire, an anger in her eyes that makes me shrink back. Royce is laughing at me. Liam is in his wolf form, a scar on his flank, blood streaming down his snout. Tori's crouched, fingers flexing as sparks swirl around her fingertips.

"Come at me, you mangy mutt," she snarls. "No," Royce says and his arm stops Ramon's advance. A slow, twisted smile spreads across Royce's face. I hate it immediately. "Mutt, let her down and I won't hurt her…much." The person holding me growls.

I look up.

His eyes are like shards of green glass, cutting through a curtain of hair. "Mine," he snarls out in a deep, gravelly voice. Sheets of sweaty black hair stick to his acne-ridden cheeks and neck, despite it being brushed back with his fingers. To be honest, I'd love nothing more than to have him next to me all the time, his hand closed around mine—

Wait, his?

A quick look at his wrist tells me what I need to know. All werewolves have a mark on their inner right wrist, two small black circles that intertwine each other.

I'm a werewolf's mate?


	2. Chapter 2

Little Red Necromancer

2

"Only my companions, darling. I love the company of wolves. Look out the window and you'll see them." —Company of Wolves, 1984

The werewolf holding me doesn't seem to be backing down any time soon. My hand clenches in a tight fist around the fabric of his tank top and he glances down, fast, at my fist. His eyes are like fire, burning me when our gazes connect.

"Isn't that sweet?" Royce drawls in a slow voice, tossing something—my brain stutters as I realize it's a knife—between his long hands. I want to scream at the man holding me, scream at him _run! He's got a freaking knife! _but my mouth is frozen and even if it weren't, I'd never have the courage.

Liam snarls, bloody trails of saliva hanging off his jaws. His angry, dark eyes glower at me and the werewolf snarls, tugging me closer to his body. "Enough," says a new voice and I turn my head, watching in surprise as a tall, thin man with a hawkish nose steps between us. Liam's teeth clip his jacket. "Leave them be," Mayor Davidoff tells Royce with a stern glare.

"You'll get yours, mutt," Rae hisses and the fire on her fingertips grows brighter. "Rachelle." Tori's voice is slick and makes me want to curl up. "Leave." Now _her _fingers are swirling with energy, a bright ball of electricity. "Victoria, that won't be necessary," Davidoff explains softly, his beady eyes staring her down. The sparks dribble off until there's nothing.

Liam paces away and Ramon follows shortly, his footsteps nearly silent. Rae slinks back, eyeballing Royce. He standing there, twirling the knife around and around in his fingers, a slow, twisted smirk on his face as he begins to speak. "You should keep track of your mutt brother, Tori," he sneers, dark eyes roaming the scenery, "He might get out of control and _hurt _someone." The smirk flashes fresh, turning into a smile. The werewolf holding me stiffens.

"How do you think little miss necromancer will react when she finds out the type of damage you can do, mutt?" Now his tone is growing darker, his eyes gleaming. "Werewolves are monsters, necro. They're stupid dogs that should be put down."

"That's enough, Mr. Banks."

Royce ignored Davidoff, pocketing his switchblade. "Monsters never get the girl, mutt. I'm going to put you down and, when I do, I'll take your girl. Have some fun. Carve her up real pretty." He's bouncing. Rae's hair is hidden in the leaves. "Or maybe I'll bash her face in. With what, though? Hm. A knife? No. Too amateur. A shovel? Nah, too…messy. A dumbbell?" A predatory look enters his eyes. "Perfect. I'd be careful if I were you, ugly mutt. Wouldn't want another Albany—" He stops. Turns around and shrugs, forcing nonchalance. The question hangs in the air.

With a flash of teeth that mock a smile, Royce swaggers off.

I'm trembling. "Chloe?" Tori's face is in mine for a split second before her head snaps up, eyebrows scrunching at the growling. "I-I-I…" My teeth nearly cut off my tongue as I stutter. Tears fill my eyes.

"Hey, Dog Breath, chill." A roll of her eyes.

The growling dies down but I can still feel the tension thrumming through his muscles, through his skin. "Looks like you'll need some stitches," Davidoff tells me thoughtfully, peering at me over coke bottle glasses. When he pats my head, the growling is even worse. His head snaps up with horror and fear written all over his face.

"Derek," Tori says in her warning voice and then she proceeds to smack him in the back of the head. The growling falters, and then tapers off into soft huffs. "Stop it. She needs stitches, okay?"

Derek ignores her and strokes my hair out of my face, gazing at me with a soft, passionate gaze that makes my stomach knot up and my mouth dry. "H-h-hi," I squeak out. His mouth quirks up at the corners, a half smile. "Hi," he says and I take the time to admire him.

His face is wide, and he's got a strong, squared jaw and high cheekbones. His skin is golden and his hair, black as ink, falls around his handsome face in wild locks, tousled and greasy-looking. His cheeks are flushed, either from exertion or the bright, angry acne that flows down his neck and kind of scatters all over his arms.

He's extremely muscular, with strong arms corded with muscles and thick thighs that are rock-hard against my back. He's obviously very fit, or athletic, or maybe that's just his werewolf genes.

The tank top he's wearing does nothing but hug his muscles, taunting me. "Chloe, this is Dog Breath, Dog Breath—" Tori begins but stops when he shoots her a glower. She snorts a laugh, doubled over. Her face is turning red from laughing so hard.

"Chloe?" Davidoff wipes off his glasses with trembling hands. "We're going to have to inform your aunt about Derek." All I can hear now is the thundering of blood in my ears. My aunt…how is she going to react?

I squeeze my eyes shut as a wave of dizziness spills over me. Exhaustion sweeps in. "Chloe?" Derek's green, green eyes are above me, glittering like a cat's in the shade, glowing. It's like something out of a movie.

His hand is feathery on my skin, barely brushing. I close my eyes.

oOo

When I wake up, Aunt Lauren's next to my bed, looking a bit shaken but relieved. "They told me about the werewolf," she says. My chin's throbbing and, when I brush my fingertips against it, I can feel padding. Gauze.

"I can't say I'm pleased—" She purses her lips as she stares off at something in the doorway. "—But I won't say I'm completely unhappy with it. I want you to be happy." My heart's pounding as I inhale his scent. "Derek?" My voice comes out croaky.

A boy with spiky blonde hair pokes his head around the corner. "Nope, just plain old not wolfy Simon," he laughs. "Don't forget me," whines another voice. A blonde girl with a Mickey Mouse t-shirt speeds into the room, her pink sneakers squeaking against the tiles. Liz.

"Tori and I had some kids from the drama club sign your get well soon card," she says and pulls out a pink card with lots of glitter and cat stickers. "See, even Brent signed it. Remember how you had the biggest crush on him?" she babbles as she sits down on the edge of the bed, her long hair swishing around her heart-shaped face.

Her big, blue eyes twinkle as she talks about school and who shoved who in a locker and did I hear that Peter, a freshman who had a knack for taking pictures with a huge camera around his neck, got asked out by Beth, ever the cougar. He's only 13 where as she's 15. Not that big of an age gap but we still jokingly refer to her as a cougar.

I'm in the middle of laughing when I feel it; a shift in the air. When I look around, I see a dark-haired boy standing next to Simon, looking at me with a bruised face and busted nose.

"Who're you looking at, Chloe?"

Ignoring Liz's question, I meet his eyes. "Hello, there," I say softly. He jumps like a rabbit being frightened. His scared brown eyes search mine. "Hello," he replies in a whispery voice. When he talks, it's crackly, like there's interference.

"Have you seen—"

The kid lets out a loud scream as I catch sight of a tall, hulking man. I jump a foot in the air, watching in surprise as the kid squeals and races forward. "Jonathon," the man says as the boy flings himself into the man's hairy arms, "What happened to your face?"

The man looks at me over his son's head. "Hello, miss." "She can see us!" "That she can, Jonathan. You look like her." His eyes bore into me. A chill runs up my spine.

"Who?" My voice comes out quietly. Shaky. My hands ball my blanket into fists. Jonathan buries his face in his father's chest.

"Your mother, Chloe." The man's smile is sad. When Aunt Lauren drags away my attention, I can feel my face is wet. I'm crying. I wipe my face off.

When I look back, the man and his child are gone but the room smells like lavender…just like my mom.


	3. Chapter 3

Little Red Necromancer

3

"A gentleman is simply a patient wolf."—Lana Turner

"I hope it's okay," Tori's saying as I look at my reflection. "I'm not an expert on thin hair." Someone bangs on the bathroom door and she rushes away; I touch my damp hair.

In the mirror is a girl of fifteen, with big blue eyes and wispy strawberry-blonde hair…streaked with cherry red. She's in her jeans and bra, looking a bit on the skinny side, like a little girl. Her bra is pink, with a bow in between the cups, like she's a present, waiting to be opened.

"Chloe." A whoosh of my name from the werewolf, I mean, Derek. I pull on my t-shirt, ignoring the way he stares at me. "You're beautiful," he tells me. I nod, pretending to believe him. I'm a skinny, flat-chested little girl compared to my friends but he'll never know that.

"Your aunt's here," he murmurs, kissing my temple. I can't deny the tingling, champagne feeling that welds up inside me when his lips touch my skin and his hands slips into mine. I glance up at him.

He's not that bad, a bit quirky but nice. At least I'm not mated to some abusive jackass. I shudder at the idea of being stuck with Liam, whose every thought was written clear across his stubble-shadowed face, or, _worse_, Royce.

"Your hair looks nice. It suits your skin tone, Chloe," Derek rumbles beside me. I squeeze his hand. "Thank you." And I meant it. He's been nothing _but _nice to me since we met. And, to be honest, I think I may have developed a teeny, tiny crush on him.

"Thank you, Dr. Gil," my aunt is saying when we walk in. A woman with rat-like eyes and red hair eyeballs Derek and then me. "A necro and a mutt, eh?" I clench my jaw. "It's werewolf," I snap and Derek's hand finds my back pocket, slipping inside.

I can feel my face turning redder than a tomato at the feeling of his hand against my butt but I relax when I realize he isn't trying anything. I lean against him. "Ah, yes, _werewolf_," said Dr. Gil, lips pursing as she looks over the chart.

"You had a little run in with Mr. Banks, Miss Rodgers, Mr. Jaeger _and _Mr. Smithson, I hear." Her accent is sharp and grates on my nerves. Normally, I could care less but the way she's speaking, in such a clipped tone, is really rubbing me the wrong way.

"Yes. That's how I got _this_." I wave a hand to my forehead and the stitched up gash. "You're making my mate irritated," Derek states as a growl rises.

Dr. Gil's face flickers with a mixture of fear and anger. "Don't growl at me."

"Why?" he asks, his voice deep and sharp. "Does it _scare _you?" he rumbles. I squeeze his hand and he backs off, if a bit reluctantly. "Mr. Souza—" "That's my father," he cuts in. I bite my lip to smother a giggle.

"Actually, according to the charts, your father is Zachary Cain, the serial killer of Buffalo, New York," snips Dr. Gil and I can feel my blood run cold; Derek pulls his hand away from mine.

"And if he is?" His voice is deathly quiet.

"You're an animal, Mr. Souza. You're going to lose control just like Dr. Lyle did and kill someone. You're going to kill just like your father—" Dr. Gil stops and her professional aura is mused; shattered, really. "Don't you _dare _speak to him this way!" I snarl, surprising myself. All this fire-hot anger spikes through my feet and up.

My hand finds his again.

"You're lucky I don't report you! You know what, I will! Because my mate does not need your bullshit!" I yell. A soft noise makes all my anger wash away and drip to the floor as I turn. "Ssh," he whispers as he presses my face into his chest. At first, I struggle, clawing at him.

"Derek!"

But as he continues to hold me, I calm down and Dr. Gil sneaks out of the room. "I'm calm, I'm calm," I mutter into his chest and he sets me down. "I'm sorry," I apologize without meaning it. Aunt Lauren stares at me in surprise. "It's because we're mates. Whatever one feels, the other's emotion is ten times," Derek explains as he strokes my hair.

I relax against his fingers and he makes a little sound from the back of his throat; I wrap an arm around his waist. He strokes my neck, moving the hair away. "That's why she grew so angry," he explains in a soft whisper, his hand trailing down my arm to my hip.

His touch is hot, like fire, but comforting, making my mind go blank and fuzzy. When I start to sway, he scoops me up in his arms, despite my protests, and Aunt Lauren holds the door.

She kisses my temple.

I'm placed in a cold, metal wheelchair and I notice the balloons. I play with the strings, trying to remember something. "Today's…?" I ask around a massive yawn. My ears pop.

"Yes, Chloe, it is," replies my aunt. Being cooped up in that hospital for three days was hell on earth. I kiss Derek's arm as I relax, my body feeling light.

My mate is content and happy and so am I. When we get outside, I giggle to myself and wrap my toothpicky arms around Derek's neck. His arms are rock-hard muscles under my legs.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you," Aunt Lauren sings softly. "Happy birthday, dear Chloe, happy birthday to you."Derek kisses my cheek and I snuggle into the warmth of his chest.

I can hear the murmur of his voice, feel it vibrate through his chest. "Happy birthday," I mutter, sleep setting in. "Happy…baby…" sighs a voice that I won't ever forget.

Even though she left me three years ago, I'll never forget my mother's voice as I fall asleep on my fifteenth birthday.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:Sorry about such late updates, guys. I got my wisdom teeth out on Monday and am only _now _feeling better, in the passed few days. Anyway, guess what I started watching? Kill La Kill! And I _totally _ship Inumatu/Nonon and Gamagoori/Mako :D

* * *

Little Red Necromancer

4

"Man is not man, but a wolf to those he does not know."—Plautus

The first thing I saw when I woke up was Derek. He was next to my bed, head down, reading a thick book. His hair gleamed blue in the dim light and he seemed at ease.

"Hi," I croaked. He jolted and his wide eyes met mine. I managed a smile before he crushed me in his arms, muscles hard against me. "Derek," I laughed and breathed in his scent. I let him hug me for a little longer before I pulled away.

His hungry eyes met mine and my face burned viciously. "Are you okay? Are you hurting?" he demanded. _Alpha male much? _"I'm fine," I sighed and his jaw clenched at my tone.

"Really. I'm fine." I smiled up at him as he pushed me to arm's length, surveying me. I felt a bit…inadequate but the thought was brushed away from my mind when I noticed the flush on his cheeks. I smiled to myself as he looked away and his eyebrows furrowed.

"Derek?"

I noticed the dark bedroom walls, the books lining the walls, the smell of boy hanging in the air. "Hm?" He didn't turn to me, just shifted head a tiny bit, like a dog cocking its head to ear better, towards a foreign noise.

"Where am I?"

He opened his mouth, closed it, cleared his throat. Tried again. "My room." His voice was husky and kind of squeaky and it made me want to laugh, want to roll onto the bed and laugh until I cried. He was _embarrassed. _

"Am I the first girl in here?" I asked cheekily and his head whipped towards me so fast, I though he gave himself whiplash. I bit back a snort of laughter. "What?" His voice was different now, low and quiet. "Am I the first girl to be in your room?" I repeated slowly.

Minutes crawled by, dragging out. His nostrils flared. "Yes, actually, you are. I don't…I'm not…like that," he muttered and he looked so shy that I jumped up and hugged him hard. He felt like stone under my cheek.

"Good."

Someone knocked on the door. Derek growled through his teeth and a little giggle slipped out of my mouth as we untangled ourselves and I sat down on the bed. His hand was still locked in mine as the door opened and a tall, lean man with grey-streaked hair stepped in, smiling at us like we were the best thing since sliced bread.

His slanted eyes twinkled just like Simon's. "Oh, well, hello," said the man. Derek inhaled sharply next to me like he was startled and his hand tightened, fingers clamping down on mine hard.

My fingers throbbed under his grasp. "You must Chloe, Derek's mate," the man laughed. I turned red. "Y-yeah," I whispered quietly, feeling Derek squeeze my hand reassuringly. The man turned to Derek and ruffled his long hair affectionately. My jaw dropped as Derek endured the ruffling of his hair without so much as a dirty look.

"I'm Kit, Simon, Tori and Derek's dad." He leaned back and smiled.

"D-Dad?" My voice was weak and shaky with shock. "I was adopted," Derek murmured softly in my ear, his voice sending vibrating chills down my spine. He had such a unique voice that suited him so nicely, no, not nicely, so…perfectly; it completely and utterly matched his physical attributes.

"Oh," was the only thing my brain could think of. Derek's lips thinned into a hard line and his eyes darkened with something that was familiar in a fleeting way. Anger? Regret?

Whatever it was, it passed as quickly as it came as he blinked it away. "I guess you already know Tori but have you met Simon?" Derek dropped my hand and I felt a pang of anger and disappointment. Was he ashamed of me? Was I _that _young looking? I waved off my childish doubts and notions and crossed my arms.

"No," I admitted and he was still, rubbing at his mouth like he was thinking, his brows furrowed, forehead creased. Was he worried? Disappointed? Nervous?

He seemed to be thinking hard about something. Me? Maybe I wasn't right to him? I clenched my jaw at the thought that made a painful stab deep in my chest and brushed away my insecurities as Kit drew my attention away from my inner workings.

"Why don't you meet our family?" he suggested in a happy voice as he clasped his hands together like he was sharing a juicy secret with us. I swallowed as Derek shrugged and helped me up. As soon as I was standing, he dropped my hand and headed for the door.

I felt put off.

"Sure," I said quietly and if my voice gave away my anger and disappointment, nobody told me. Derek opened the door and held it for me; Kit headed out in front of me and I followed, glancing back at the empty bedroom. It looked like the room of an invert, a man who didn't know how to communicate, how to interact…how to feel.

A chill worked its way up my spine as Derek slammed the door and made me jump. "Sorry," he muttered but I doubted he meant it; what happened to the sweet guy who laid by my hospital bed and was extremely protective over me?

His face was set in a mask of impassiveness, not betraying a thing but his eyes did. His eyes spoke shades of emotion, even if his face was stony and cold, like ice, like a big, concrete block left in the Artic. He walked beside me, his fingertips brushing mine with every stride, every swing of his long, muscular arms.

I could hear my pulse beating in my ears, like I'd ran a marathon and I was acutely aware of Derek's scent: musky, like sweat mingled with a woodsy sort of smoked tree smell. It suited him, as amusing as that was.

I looked at his eyes again.

His eyes were cloudy with a storm of emotions; a raging storm that I'd caused and I didn't think I'd ever know how to calm it.


	5. Chapter 5

| | Little Red Riding Necromancer | |

"The most dangerous wolves have fur on the inside."—Company of Wolves, 1984

5

"Anger is the enemy of non-violence and pride is a monster that swallows it up."—Mahatma Gandhi

The family was nice, although a bit weird. Tori, I already knew. Simon seemed kind of…okay, I guess. I could feel Derek's stare following me as I looked around. "Looking for an escape?" he rumbled somewhere behind me sarcastically. I shot him a look and he looked surprised.

"Actually, I'd like to go home." I was looking for my sneakers when he answered me.

"No." He crossed his huge arms over his burly chest and stared me down. "You can't _keep _me here," I spat out. His nostrils flared. "Like hell I can't—" he began but I cut him off. "It's kidnapping," I said, "regardless of the mating." His eyes flashed as they reflected the light, his werewolf's possessive streak slipping through. We stared down as I coiled my hands into tight fists.

"I'll take you home," he said slowly, looking like he wanted to shake me and make me stay. Tori handed me my sneakers with a look of distaste. "They're _so _last season," she told me. My cheeks flamed as I crammed them on. The only reason I wore them was because my mom had bought them with me before she died.

"Shut up," Derek snapped and Tori scowled above my head.

oOo

The ride back home was tense. I could taste it with every breath I took. Derek sat stiff in the driver's seat, ignoring me for the most part. I fidgeted, a million thoughts racing through my brain. _Is he angry? He always looks angry. Did I piss him off? Probably. _

I stared down at the pink tips of my sneakers, feeling my throat constrict slightly. Even five years later, I still got choked up over the little things. Like yesterday, I was sweeping and I found one of my mom's old earrings, the little turtle ones I gave her for her birthday, and then I proceeded to cry like a weenie for two hours.

"Chloe," Derek said and I looked over at him, watching him. We were stopped at a red light, the truck idling. Soft rock music played and he reached over and shut it off, glancing at me. The intensity in his eyes nearly sucked the backbone out of me. "I didn't mean to…" he began but cut himself off, quickly, his jaw working. The light turned green and he eased the car forward, lips drawn into his mouth, a thin line creasing his forehead.

I glanced out the window at the blurry trees rushing passed us and closed my eyes, resting my forehead on the glass. "I live with my aunt," I said lightly. I could feel him looking at me, his eyes flicking up and down, sizing me up. "My mom's—" My throat constricted. I had to breath in deeply for several minutes until I could speak without bursting into tears. " A-anyw-way, my dad works a lot so I stay with my aunt, who works in Lyle Regional Hospital."

"We've met," he told me. "In the hospital." His head bobbed as we hit a patchy spot of pavement, the car bouncing with each ragged strip. "She means well," he said suddenly after thirty minutes of driving in silence.

I glanced back at him curiously, watching him for a few minutes. "I know," I said in reply. He scratched at the nasty zit on his cheek and winced when he drew blood. He scowled. I looked away. "I'm not crazy," he muttered, looking in the rearview mirror. "I'm not the kind of guy who'll lock a girl up for his own purposes. I _am _the kind of guy, however, that you shouldn't take lightly."

His eyes met mine in the sheen of glass. They were intense and bright, intelligent, giving away no emotion whatsoever. I couldn't figure him out at all. Framed by wisps of black hair, dark brown eyelashes and thick black eyebrows, his eyes grew even more intense, green lava.

I looked away.

oOo

Aunt Lauren had yet to arrive home so I let Derek, a bit reluctantly, and myself inside. Stale air rushed into my lungs as I headed for the kitchen, my mate trailing behind me like a puppy. "Are you hungry?" I asked as I searched the scarce fridge, a few bottles of water and diet soda lining the barren racks. There was a wilting half of lettuce, a half container of Blue Cheese dressing lay on its side.

"We don't have much though," I sighed, running a hand through my hair. It hung limp against my shoulders. "I'm fine," Derek replied as he sat down at the kitchen island while I fished out a flat soda. As he watched me, I checked the messages.

"Five new messages."

I broke the seal and took a swig. It esd bitter, like dark chocolate and slid down my throat. Beep. "Chloe, it's me," Aunt Lauren's voice was soft, as always. "I'm running to the store after work." Delete message. "Hello," sneered a voice. The words popped and faded; the voice itself crackled like it was a radio and there was interference. Chills crawled down my spine.

"I see you've met with him," the voice continued conversationally. There was a pause, a loud thump. And then voice muttered, "Put her in the bag." Goosebumps broke out across my skin. "He's a good kid, I suppose. A bit of a monster, just like his old man." A barked laugh made ended the phone call. I forwarded to the next one.

"Pick up the phone, I know you're there, necro," the voice snarled. Heavy breathing crackled. "Your mother was the same when we met. Timid. Shy. Didn't want _anything _to do with me." My heart stuttered a beat. I gripped the counter to keep myself rooted.

"She was beautiful, stunning and I wanted her. She was mine, whether she knew it or not. I knew I had to have her."

The next messages were garbled screaming, like a bad horror movie audio. Repeating one name. JENNIFER.


	6. Chapter 6

| | Little Red Riding Necromancer | |

6

"It takes a monster to destroy a monster."—Unkown.

"I can't find anything wrong with it," stated the police officer, running her fingers along the interior of the voice mail machine. Derek kept his eyes on the trees outside, his nostrils flaring with each sway of the breeze.

"It sounded garbled," I said slowly, "like thousands of raspy voices screaming, something demonic, like in a horror movie. It was repeating the same thing over, and over, and over."

"What did it say?"

I took a deep breath. "Jennifer. That's my mother's name. The voice at the beginning was normal, a man's voice. He didn't sound familiar, though; my father's out in Berlin again."

"Does he normally leave you by yourself? What does your father do?"

"He's a lawyer. And yes. My aunt lives with us but she hadn't come home from the hospital. She works there."

"What time did you find the messages?" the officer asked. Derek shifted, grunting. She glanced at him curiously before turning back to me.

"Around 5:30." I slid onto the counter top, playing with an apple in the fruit bowl.

"What time did the messages say they were sent?" She rested her hip against the counter.

"5:29." I pressed my thumbnail into the fruit and felt the crisp skin break.

"Only a minute before you arrived home." The detective shook her head. "Do you think he could be hanging around in the woods back there?" Derek asked suddenly and she blinked up at him. "If he was, our supernatural crew, with several werewolves, would've picked up on him. They can sense malice intent."

"Or smell him out, right?" A growl slid into Derek's voice and the detective frowned at him. "That's what our K9s are for," she told him. "Our Supernatural section have all been trained with us to use their senses in a different way, a werewolf's sense of emotion is amped up, able to pick up anyone's emotions," she explained.

"Are you sure it wasn't a ghost?" she asked to me. I shook my head. "Derek heard it too," I said and turned to him. He was unusually quiet now; something embarrassed gleaming in his eyes. "Derek, _tell _her you heard it too," I whispered, feeling my heart pound rapidly in my chest. "I…" he began hesitantly and I bit my tongue until I tasted bittersweet blood.

Embarrassment washed over me like a scalding wave as my cheeks warmed. "You didn't hear it, did you?" I choked out. A hard, painful lump clogged my throat as he clenched his jaw and looked away.

"Just…get out," I said quickly, anger burning through me now instead of embarrassment as heat flooded my cheeks. Derek's head whipped toward me. "Chloe—"

"Get _out_, you stupid overgrown mutt!" I spat, shoving off the counter and ignoring the way my leg caught on the chair on the way down. His eyes flashed like solar flares as his jaw clamped and his body went rigid. I stalked away and made my way into the foyer. I yanked open the door just as Aunt Lauren unlocked it and pushed.

I stumbled hard, thrown off guard, and hit the ground painfully. Derek's footsteps pounded. "Are you ok—" he started but I cut him off with, "Fine. Now get out."

"Chloe, what's going on?"

"Are you Mrs. Fellows?"

Aunt Lauren glanced up sharply at the officer. "It's doctor, actually. There's no Mr. Fellows." A wry smile didn't reach her grey-blue eyes. "At least, not anymore," she amended lightly and tugged her coat closed. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Your niece—" began the officer, stepping closer to help me to my feet. I pushed myself up without a single glance at her—or Derek for that matter. "Chloe found—" he started but I shot him an angry glare. "It's nothing!" I shouted over their voices and just then, the answering machine crackled to life with high-pitched shrieking noise.

It sounded like shrill chanting, repeating over and over, a heavy, grating screaming that made Derek drop his knees and quiver, his muscles spasming. Fear flashed across his face.

"Ch…hl…" he rasped as the whites of his eyes turned pink, blood vessels popping. He screamed suddenly, a bark of pain, and his arms gave out first, a spasming mass of muscles, unable to be controlled. He thumped against the floor with a stifled moan of agony and then he was on his side, muscles spasming violently.

The cop was on her knees, clutching at her short hair, scraping away skin from her ears, blood running out of her nose. She was crying hysterically as she doubled over, forehead kissing the ground, her entire body shaking with the force of her tremors.

"For God's sake…" rasped Derek, his bloodshot eyes focusing half-heartedly on me, "…shut it up!" His green eyes focused for a split second before they rolled away, terror written all over it. He was _afraid. _Strings of saliva ran out of his hanging mouth and pooled on the floor, tinted pink with blood.

Bile rose in my throat as I scrambled forward, forgetting about my aunt, who looked more dazed than anything. Her blue-grey eyes were unfocused and staring blankly ahead, like she was staring at something _I couldn't see. _

"Where the hell is the—got it!" My shaking fingers curled around the cord and yanked hard enough to knock the answering machine to the floor. Even as it fell, the shrieking notes went even shriller, making my ears ring and eyes burn viciously as several dogs howled in pain. Derek was withering as the answering machine hit the floor, shattering on impact. Fragments of metal, wire, glass and plastic scattered all over.

Aunt Lauren broke her trance first with a hushed, "What happened?" Derek hacked as he crawled to all fours, looking a bit like a disorientated wolf trying to get its bearings. A frantic, wild look crossed his face for a split second before it vanished, replaced by determination and a crease between his brows.

"What the hell…" gasped out the cop, wiping the blood from her nose away, "…was that?" She looked pale and her skin was stretched taught, pulled thin across jutting bones.

A chill pulled over us and my legs just stopped working; I hit the ground hard and stared up at the shimmering air.

Shimmering air?

Something rushed at me too fast for me to yell or scream or throw up a protective wall and everything flashed grey. Someone screamed at me. Hands tore at my shoulders, nails scratching. I was being shaken.

Everything turned black as I caught a glimpse of terrified, bloodshot eyes. _Derek, help me…_


	7. Chapter 7

| | Little Red Riding Necromancer | |

7

"I never say a word; leave you before you leave me."—Marina &amp; The Diamonds

I open my eyes. My mouth tastes like death as I see feet, black sneakers with broken shoelaces and chipped toes. My sneakers. My legs. I reach down and nearly scream when my fingers ran through it.

"Chloe?" Derek's shaky voice comes from behind me and I turn, blinking. My eyes are closed as I breathe steadily; movement flickers beneath my eyelids. I want to scream and stomp around, wake up from the nightmare.

"Chloe?" He's crouched beside me, terror written on his face, looking pale and confused as he shakes me; I can't feel anything. My eyes open and I'm staring down into my familiar colors but the look in them is wild and crazy and so not me. "I'm afraid I had to borrow your dear girl for a moment, my boy," says a voice.

A chill crawls down my spine as my body looks around, blinking my eyes, smiling with my mouth. A ghost. My skin prickles. "Who are you?" Derek snarls, so close I could almost _feel _him. I wave my arms, trying to do _anything _and the ghost in my body turna to me, smiling gently, regretfully. "Hello. I'm quite sorry. My name is Dr. Banks."

"B-Banks?" I squeak. Derek's ears shift, like he's picking up something. "I lived here for a very long time, in this house actually, before my life was ended quite tragically," he continues, waving my hand flippantly; I stare at him, seeing through my skin and hair and clothes and a man with bloodshot eyes and dark skin appears.

"Something's not right in this town," he tells Derek, a grim expression dominating my face. It looks odd to see my pale, pale skin and even paler eyelashes and eyebrows and not be in my own skin; to be honest, it's unnerving and I can feel the constricting in my chest, tightening like a wrench and it's getting harder and harder to breath. Black lines crawl through my field of vision, blurring out faces and lips and eyes

that peer at Dr. Banks in my body

and I blink and the darkness is gone gone gone baby and I can feel my feet touch the ground. The ground is solid and soft and dust and glossy and I is teetering on the ground, feeling a pull in the pit of my navel, like a magnet.

"They're taking Supernaturals…tweaking things they shouldn't be…they don't—" He winces as my body jerks as I stumble towards him; his frantic eyes look at me. For the first, I notice the gaping wound on the side of his head, matting hair to his skull, blood running down his cheek.

"—U-understand. Bad things will happen. Bad, bad things."

"What does that have to do with us?" I demand, grinding my heels to dust trying to resist the magnetic pull. Dr. Banks's dark, nearly pitch-black eyes meet mine and I think of Royce's eyes, nearly black.

"Because you're apart of that. You're not…" Another wince as my legs give out on him, my chest burning and sizzling where the pendant lay.

"…Natural. They messed with…ah…your genetic sequence…" he continues weakly as my body falls forward. Derek catches it. Dr. Banks is being plucked out of me. I watch him kick and scream and swear as my body twitches and withers; Aunt Lauren is crying. The cop looks panicked. Derek's grim-faced.

"Don't trust anyone, Chloe," Dr. Banks whispers, reaching for me. His hand brushes my cheek and he stares into my eyes before he leans down and presses his mouth against my forehead. "You look so much like your mother," he murmurs as he smiles like a tired man, a glimmer in his eyes. He fades and then winks out like a light bulb.

With a flash of harsh, sterile light, I'm shoved back into my body.

oOo

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's sleeping now."

"Was that Banks right?"

Silence. Rustling. A hand touches my forehead. I try to open my eyes but they're weighted with razor-laced lead. I can feel everything; my fingers on the soft comforter and the sheets cold against my legs and the hand on my face.

I relax.

And my eyes open. Dad looks at me, confused. A hint of sadness tinges his brown, brown eyes. I stare back at him, blank and very and pull away from his hand, huddling under the covers. My teeth are knock knock knocking, click click click, nearly chopping my tongue in two.

The room is an icebox, frosty fingers leaving streaks on the windows. I'm shaking and shivering and trying to get warm; I tuck my toes under me. "W-what ha-happened?" I chatter through popsicle teeth and Dad looks panicked and backs up. Knocks into the nightstand. The lamp teeters.

"Uh, I'll go get Margaret," he blurts and bolts; I listen to the rainfall outside, hitting the window gently.

Pit

Pat

Pit

Pat

Pit

Pit

Pat

The door creaks open, slow and gently, like whoever's opening it is worried about waking me. I crawl deeper into the covers, hoping I can hide. My head is pounding now, eyes burning. "Chloe, are you awake?" The voice is too loud and demanding and I immediately dislike the woman who walks in. She's older, with short, brown hair and a severe air about her.

"Your aunt contacted me. I'm a friend of your mother's…well, more like an acquaintance," the woman says, tapping the divot in her cheek. She's dressed in a pantsuit and looks more lawyerish than anything.

She sits on the edge of my bed, pats my leg. I scoot away. "Steve said you had contact with a man named Banks." I shrug and stare out the window. "Said he was a doctor. Something about taking over your body, Chloe."

The woman pulls the comforter away like I'm a child refusing to get up for school. "My name is Margaret, young lady. It's proper to introduce yourself."

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell her to shove it. "Chloe." My voice is breathless and raspy and I feel very cold, skin breaking out in goosebumps. "Dr. Banks was warning me."

"About what?"

"About someone changing supers DNA. Tweaking them. Genetically modifying them."

She laughs.

"My dear, that's rich coming from him." She picks lint off her leg and glances around my room with distaste. "What do you mean?" I ask slowly.

"He killed your mother."


	8. Chapter 8

| | Little Red Riding Necromancer | |

"We got the Dark Mark to prove our loyalty unashamed."—Oliver Boyd and the Remembralls

8

It's like a cold, thick blanket is smothering me; I can see Margaret's severe expression and sharp eyebrows and then I'm underwater, drowning, choking, trying to claw to the surface. I can feel hands shaking me; muffled voices and a man's voice rising above them reaches my covered ears.

I blink hard and stare up into in to a man's black eyes. He's as old as time itself, with a trimmed goatee and wavy black hair and he's flashing a light in my eyes, making me follow it.

"Margaret," he says sharply, glaring at the woman, "what did you do? You mustn't upset her!"

I lick my lips and taste lots of blood. I bring trembling fingers to my lips and they come away bloody. Panic rises inside my belly like a hot, angry tidal wave. "I-I'm bleeding," I say softly.

"What?"

"My lips."

"Dear God, she's bitten through it."

"What?"

The drugs are pulling me back under and I'm pushed back into the icy bath of sleep.

oOo

I wake up to a woman arguing with a man. "It's because of _you_ she's like this!" My aunt hisses, fighting to keep her voice down; she's always had a tendency to raise her voice to a very shrill pitch when she's arguing. A deeper, masculine voice answers; my heart pounds in my chest at the sound of it. _My mate, _a little voice that wasn't there before whispers; I pry open an eye and peek through a curtain of curls hiding my face.

They're standing in the doorway, Derek leaning against the frame, towering above my aunt but she's undeterred, even going so far as to poke him in the chest. His lip curls over his teeth, glaring down at my aunt, unmoved by her scare tactics.

"How is any of this _my _fault? Dr. Banks's ghost was in _your _house." His voice drops to low rumble as his head swung, eyes scanning for danger. His jaw jumped. "He wouldn't have possessed my daughter if it weren't for you," Aunt Lauren spits, eyes flashing in a familiar way. Derek shifts, pushing away from the frame.

My aunt falters slightly.

"If it weren't for me," he says quietly, glaring down at her, "your _niece _would've been beaten and raped within an inch of her life by that monster Royce and Liam." My aunt stutters as I pretend to stir, waking.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she says, forcing a smile that doesn't reach her familiar grey-blue eyes. She's wringing her long, bony hands and keeps shooting glares at Derek out of the corner of her eye. He doesn't seem to either care or notice as he sits down beside me, his knees touching mine.

"You've been asleep for a while," he tells me, picking up my hand. I clench my jaw and quickly relax it, breathing through the blinding pain in my lip. "I figured that," I say dryly, shrugging my hand from his. He shoots me an indecipherable look but doesn't say much after that.

The doctor, Dr. Joseph, checks my vitals, makes me follow some instructions like follow the light, walk in a straight line. "You're recovering remarkably fast." He squints at me as I slip back under the scratchy sheets.

_They messed with…ah…your genetic sequence. _

I can steel feel his hands clawing at me, tearing through my spirit to replace it with his, his eyes looking at me from inside my body. Should I believe him? Should I brush him off as crazy? Did he really kill my mother? "Here. Eat this."

I blink down at the pudding cup in my aunt's hands. She's smiling but it doesn't look right on her lined face. She's obviously upset. "Thanks," I say but my voice is soft and croaky as I take the cup from her hands and nibble a small bite. It's smooth but warm.

When I'm halfway finished, I get sleepy.

The last thing I see is Derek watching me with a growing frown.

oOo

I wake in a panic, thrashing about, my hand connecting with something a solid. I hear a rumbling oath and strong arms pin me down, the voice whispering in my ear.

"Chloe!"

I sink back into the mattress in defeat, expecting to Liam or Royce above me, only to find emerald greens staring down.

Derek. I lick my lips, and taste the dry skin.

I'm in a hospital, not chained to a bed with Royce and Liam keeping me company, taking their turns with me. It was a nightmare, I realize, breathing fast and trying not to hyperventilate, ignoring the way my aunt squawks at Derek for pinning me.

"Would you rather she hurt herself or others?" he snaps, rising back on his knees and watching me. "I h-had a n-nightmare," I manage to squeak out, pointedly looking away from everyone. Instead, I study the lines of my palms.

"What was I about?" my aunt demands. Derek scowls at her, resting a huge, warm hand on my knee.

"Liam and Royce…were there, using me, abusing m-me…Rae too; I was her personal ash tray." A few tears fall as my heart stops pounding and my muscles relax.

Derek tries to embrace me but I pull away, feeling a hot, heavy panic clamp down on me when I see his arms moving, outstretched. A wounded look flashes across his face. "I-I—"

"I think everyone should leave," says a woman's voice. I turn. She's a tiny, delicate thing standing in the doorway with graying black hair and almond-shaped blue eyes and freckles across her cheekbones. "My name is Miss Wang," she tells everyone, "and I need to speak with Chloe alone."

"Why?" Derek asks, rising to his feet. Miss Wang turns and blinks, realizing she's eye-level with just above his belt and then cranes her neck. "I'm a licensed Supernatural American therapist. I was called in by Lauren Fellows."

My head swings to look at my aunt, who's pretending to look sheepish but can't smother her defiance. Her chin quivers. "She needs someone to talk to and since you or I aren't suited to—"

"I'm not suited for her to confide in?" Derek says softly, his eyes dimming a bit. He looks upset. "Did you see how she reacted to you?" Lauren spits. "Just leave." The voice is soft but carries to their ears. My voice.

"If that's what you want," my mate grunts stiffly before stepping close to my head and pressing a soft kiss to my temple before my brain registers that he'd even moved. A sad, haunted look fills his green eyes.

"I'll come back later."

He squeezes my hand, stroking circles with his thumb, brings it to his lips and presses a kiss to it, meeting my eyes, and then he lowers it, squeezing my hand once again. Quickly, he turns on his heel and slinks away.

"Chloe, I—"

"Leave."

An angry, wounded expression dominates her face. "Please," I tack on the end, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms. The door slams shut behind her.

"What would you like to talk about, Chloe?" asks Miss Wang, sitting down beside me in Derek's chair.

"How about everything?"

She clicks her pen and presses the tip to her notepad. "Go right ahead."


End file.
